


your heartbeat is my lullaby

by russiasnataliaa



Category: Marvel (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Day At The Beach, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Late Night Conversations, Pillow Talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:48:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26230648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/russiasnataliaa/pseuds/russiasnataliaa
Summary: “The fact that you can do absolutely nothing and still manage to make me feel like a nervous, inarticulate teenager is everything,” he says gently, caressing her exposed hip.Damn, Natasha thinks, she really loves him.+++snapshots of bucky and natasha having a pillow talk after a day well spent at the beach.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 10
Kudos: 37





	your heartbeat is my lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> since my junior year is about to start in a few days and i'll be probably be posting significantly less, i decided to start september off with a little something before the school year starts.
> 
> enjoy <3.

It’s someplace between chapters four and six of Lewis Carrol’s _Through the Looking Glass_ (she’s not really sure where exactly because she’s been so into the book that she hasn’t bothered to keep track of her place) when Natasha hears Bucky emerge from their en suite. Slowly, she looks up from her book to find him with a towel around his waist and a smaller towel in hand as he dries his hair, still slightly damp and tangled from his shower. Jade green eyes drift over his body unashamedly, taking in his pecs, his abs, his back muscles, as he heads to his dresser. The warm light of their bedroom has him appear as if he’s glowing, which only makes Natasha gaze even more appreciatively at him. But, then again, how could she not?

He’s beautiful, a damn near perfect representation of strength and beauty all in one.

And it comes as no surprise when he hums softly, speaking out after a few moments.

“Y’know, it’s rude to stare,” comes his voice, teasing, but seeming loud in the quiet sanctuary that is their bedroom.

Natasha can’t help the smile that appears on her face, the light chuckle that escapes her lips, head going back down into her book, though, she’s not _really_ reading anymore, just skimming. Bucky, who’s contemplating whether he wants to sleep shirtless or not, is smiling as well, and has a good feeling that Natasha probably is, too.

He opts to go shirtless tonight, going in the top drawer for a pair of navy blue boxers, turning as he puts them on to watch Natasha, who’s peacefully reading as her hair falls in waves past her shoulders like a crimson veil. Her legs, toned and limber, are stretched out in front of her and crossed at the ankle, a gentle hand, the one that’s caressed him more times than he’d even bother to count, the same one he’s held and kissed tenderly, coming up to turn the page. And as he walks over, his smile grows when his eyes glimpse over the title of her book, even tries to suppress an eye roll when he sees it.

 _Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Other Classic_ —

Yeah, she’s obsessed.

“I think I’m starting to regret getting you that — ”

Natasha chuckles, shoulders moving slightly with it. “I thought you _liked_ seeing me read.” She looks up as he climbs in next to her, groaning loud and dramatically as he does so, bringing a small, fond shake of the head from her.

“Touché. But _you_ read the same book over and over — ”

She gasps softly, a hand on her chest as if she’s offended, though Bucky knows it’s just for show. “That is _far_ from the truth. We have a bookcase for a reason.” He leans back against the pillows with a deep sigh, the exhaustion from the day’s activities finally starting to set in.

He gives an amused grunt. “A whole bookcase — bookcas _es_ , actually, _filled_ with books, yet you take that one up the most.”

“But this doesn’t go on the bookcase — ” Natasha responds, resting said book down on her lap and reaching for her place-keeper, putting it inside and resting the book on the bottom shelf of her nightstand.

“’Cause you never put it _down_ ,” he chuckles.

“The reason I love it so much is ’cause you gave it to me,” she simply says, then, “Well, that and because I genuinely love the stories.”

Bucky’s quiet as he turns his head to face her, his chest throbbing with zeal as he looks at her. He relishes in the way both their lamps illuminate her pale skin, her hair showing up even brighter from the light behind her. He doesn’t hesitate to glimpse down her body, taking note of the way her silk, champagne-coloured nightgown fits her in _all_ the right places, accentuating her curves and delicate skin admirably. His eyes come back up to meet hers, finds her looking so _peaceful_ here with him, a gentle smile gracing her features, and he —

She’s too perfect for this world, Bucky thinks. But, then again, how could he not?

She’s ethereal, a faultless portrayal of allure and grace.

“Mmh, glad to know I’ve made you so happy with this — ” he says as he turns his lamp off.

“Oh, _hush_ ,” Natasha plucks him softly in his stomach, but he flinches and rubs at the spot as if she punched him _._ “You always make me happy. Today included.” Natasha reaches behind her to turn her lamp off as well, leaving them in complete darkness, save for the city lights below and the moonlight that shines in from the windows. She turns back to face Bucky, moving forward when he beckons for her. 

“Had fun?” he asks, pulling her in with his right arm, feeling more than listening to the soft sigh she lets out when she’s in his embrace. He’d taken her to the beach. A simple thing, really, something most people would take for granted. But as two people who’ve spent most of their lives travelling the world for work rather than vacation, little things like a day at the beach is something they guard selfishly.

At least for Bucky, he’s done all these things before in his childhood. Him and Steve would take the train to Queens and spend the day at Rockaway Beach, putting money together to buy hot dogs and fries or two cones at the ice cream truck. For Natasha, though, it’s different. Growing up in the Red Room was all work and no play, so she never had a real childhood of her own. Thus, Bucky makes an effort to take her out places as much as possible, giving her an experience of his own life before everything went to shit.

“I loved it.” Natasha turns up to face him, reaching a hand up to cup his stubbled cheek. “Thank you.”

“Don’t ever have to thank me, darlin’. Y’know I love taking you out.” It’s true. Seeing her happy makes him happy, and he’s glad to know that he can bring her so much joy from a simple day out. Natasha had been all smiles from the time he’d woken her up, a spread out mass of limbs tangled in sheets and an impressive bedhead, and told her where he’d planned on going over breakfast. That happiness had only grown exponentially throughout the day as they’d walked across the boardwalk, stopped for lunch, and stood close as they went out on the shoreline. Bucky’d even convinced her to wear a _bikini_ this time, which, with her self-consciousness over her scars? Was a pretty big accomplishment.

* * *

_“Don’t like it,” Natasha states quietly, standing in front of the full length mirror on the other side of their bedroom, dropping her hands at her side after looking at herself for a few long minutes. Bucky’d surprised her with a new bathing suit, one she’d been eyeing for a while, but never bothered buying for this exact reason. Bucky stands from his seat on their bed where he’d been watching her, walking over to her with a quiet sigh._

_Crossing his arms across his chest gently and looking into the mirror with her, he asks, “What about it don’t you like?”_

_“Like, it’s the… It’s just_ _— I don’t know…”_

_He hums quietly, switching his gaze from the mirror to her, watching the few lighter strands of hair among the mass of scarlet on her head, the subtle dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks, little traits that summer’s always tended to bring out. “I think you do.”_

Of course he does.

_It’s Natasha’s turn to sigh then, lifting her right hand up to rub her upper arm and turning to him, shifting her weight slowly when she meets his eyes for a few moments. “I do like it. Love it, really,” she tells Bucky, offering a smile that he sees right through._

_“Mmh, there’s a ‘but’ in there,” he says, nodding a little, and it’s not a question because he_ knows _her, knows how she thinks._

 _She gives a dry laugh, glancing at her reflection again. “I just… I don’t like it on_ me _.” And the fact that he was expecting this from her is what really sends a pang to his chest. She’s always worn one-pieces, absolutely refusing to show more skin than she has to unless she’s with him in the privacy of their home. Bucky watches her bite at her lip as she gazes at herself, her eyes criticizing the marred skin there._

 _“Natalia,” he says gently, and she hums in acknowledgement. “Hey — ” Bucky moves to stand behind her, brushing her hair out the way to place his hands on her shoulders. “Look at you — you’re_ beautiful _.” Natasha blinks once, twice, the little voice in the back of her head still taunting her, pointing out every reason_ not _to wear the bathing suit._

 _“You’re my boyfriend. Of course you’ll say that,” she smirks, her heart still jumping a little at the taste of the word ‘_ boyfriend _’_ _in her mouth. It's been about two years since they’ve put an official label on it — not that they needed one. They’ve been lovers since their days in the Red Room, and that love was never lost during the time they were separated. But it feels good to be able to have some sort of normalcy, to call each other their own publicly without being reprimanded for it. Bucky turns her around at her words, tilting her chin up and cupping her face when she’s facing him._

_“Boyfriend or not, that doesn’t change anything,” he says. Natasha doesn’t make eye contact with him, knows that if she does she’ll see those eyes and —_

_“Yeah, doesn’t change the fact that they’re still… there.” Bucky drops his hands then, and Natasha winces inwardly, thinking that he’s annoyed with her by now._ She’d _probably be annoyed with her. Instead, he crouches down in front of her, reaching for her hands and holding them, his thumbs caressing the backs of them._

_“James?” He doesn’t say anything, just leans down and kisses the four-inch scar there on her right calf. He then moves up to her thigh, her hip and so on, kissing each and every last one of her scars until he reaches her left shoulder. By the time Bucky’s finished, he’s standing again and Natasha’s looking up at him, her eyes filled with love._

_ <“I love you,”> he presses into her hair, slipping into her mother tongue effortlessly. <“I love _ all _of you, scars and all. And if I have to remind you everyday for the rest of our lives, then so be it.” > He pulls back a little then, just enough to see her face, finds her face etched with emotions. _

_ <“I love you, too. Thank you,”> she states quietly. _

_“No need to thank me.” Bucky smiles, pulling her back in and standing there for a few moments with her, rubbing circles on her back that are more comforting for her than he knows._

_Natasha sighs softly, then, “Alright.”_

_“Alright?” She turns to look at herself again, posing elusively (Bucky notices, of course. She’s not as subtle as she thinks), giving a nod when she makes eye contact with him._

_She gives a small nod of confirmation, a spark of confidence in her eyes. “I’m wearing it.”_

* * *

“Next time, _I’m_ taking _you_ out.”

“Oh?” Bucky’s looking to the ceiling now, but all his attention is still very much on her.

“Mhmm…”

“Where to?”

“I can’t _tell_ you,” Natasha tells him, like it should be obvious, moving her hand to trace a finger just along his jaw. “That’d ruin the surprise.”

“…That’s not fair.”

“You sound six.”

He chuckles. “ — And it’s not fair ’cause I told you where I was takin’ you before we actually went.”

“Um…” Natasha pauses her movements to think, wondering if he really _did_ tell her. But, then again, she would’ve remembered something like a date to the beach — or _any_ date with him, if she’s being completely honest — right off the bat. Still, she feigns being in thought just to humor him. “No, no you didn’t. You only told me this morning. While I was half asleep.”

“And drooling.” She raises her hand as if to tap him, but chuckles into his shoulder instead.

“I do not — ”

Bucky snorts. “Of course _you’ll_ deny it. You’re the one doin’ it.”

* * *

_Quietly, Bucky opens the door to their bedroom, a soft grin unfurling on his face when he sees her._

_Ahead of him is none other than Natasha, knocked out cold, sprawled out in the middle of their king-sized bed, one leg bent and the other ramrod straight as she lays on her stomach. Her right arm is pillowed under her head, the left stretched over and resting on his pillow. Somehow she’s managed to get the duvet and sheets wrapped around her legs and torso in a way that probably looks more uncomfortable than it really is, and scarlet tangles and waves surround her head like the rays of the sun._

_He leaves for twenty minutes and —_

_Well, she’s managed worse._

_As he walks over, Bucky can hardly wait to wake her up, already thinking of the things he can tease her about until the next morning comes._

_“Tasha?” He gets a soft grunt in response and he smirks. “Open those eyes, love.”_

_“’M still sleepin’... So, so tired…”_

_“Nat, it’s already past —” he pauses to check his watch, “—_ _eleven. That’s twelve hours of sleep right there.” No response. He shakes his head softly, sighing and resting a hand on the small of her back as he stands. “Can’t believe I gotta eat all those pancakes and go out by myself…” At that, she shifts, pushing herself up on her elbows to turn around and sit up artlessly against the headboard, wiping at the side of her mouth where a faint line of drool marks her face. Someone clearly slept well._

_“You made pancakes? And you’re taking me out? You should’ve led with that.”_

_“Anyone ever tell you you’re unbelievable?” He’s chuckling now, folding his arms across his chest amusedly as Natasha rubs the sleep from her eyes with a small smile, swinging her legs over the side of the bed in search of her slippers._

_“You’ve told me once or twice, yeah.” She beckons and reaches out for him, a gentle smile on her face, one of many that only he has the luxury of seeing, when he leans down for a chaste kiss, savoring in the softness of his lips while he presses another one, two to her nose and hair._

_“Mmm, so you’d get up for food, but not for your loving boyfriend —”_

_“Not if he likes to bother me in my sleep,” Natasha cuts in airily, poking him lightly in the chest for emphasis on the_ ‘not’ _._

_“Next time I’ll just have your food go cold,” Bucky sighs, offering his arm so she can hook hers through. Natasha bumps him playfully with her hip._

_“You would never — ”_

_He bumps back with a grin. “Don’t put it past me.”_

* * *

“You okay?” Bucky asks upon noticing Natasha’s sudden faraway look, her eyes slightly glazed over and eyebrows knitted a bit, worrying at her lip in that way she always does when she’s getting lost in her own head.

“I’m fine,” she returns gently, honestly, lightly scratching her red nails in his stubble, still not quite looking at him. “It’s just — scary, sometimes.”

“Hmm?” He turns his head back to her and slides his arm further around her waist, his flesh hand sliding over the siken material effortlessly. “What is?”

“Being so — so comfortable, and… at ease? I guess?” Bucky blinks, nods gently, knows she’s not finished so he waits. “It’s, it’s stupid, but — ” a sigh, then, “Every now and then, I expect the other shoe to drop. And it’s not like I’d want it to” — God, she _never_ does — “but sometimes I can’t help but feel like — like I’m just on the edge of waking up from a dream. I…”

“Hey,” Bucky calls softly, her gaze now on him as he shifts and props himself up on his left elbow. “I know.” And from those two words alone, Natasha feels immensely comforted because she’s not alone. _I’m not alone._ Be that as it may, she’s not all that surprised that he does. Sometimes, when they’re in the bath together or if he’s offered to brush her hair, for example, she’d catch him looking at her like he can’t really grasp the fact that she’s here with him (and there’s no doubt that she does the same). But _hearing_ him say that still calms her a thousand times over.

“I remember,” he says, laying back down in the pillows, “when we’d finally grown some balls and started afresh that night we came back from Ibiza and you had the huge gash on your calf and I stitched you up, took you home and everythin’… Got dressed that next morning, about to leave to get your coffee and muffin like I promised and — the whole time on my way over I’d wondered if everything was just gonna go to hell the second I walked in the lobby.” Natasha hums quietly, moving her hand to rest at the nape of his neck, her thumb caressing slowly just below the hinge of his jaw. “Guess I’m so used to things takin’ a turn for the worse that I expect it all the time.” He’s not one to speak on his feelings much (especially the less pleasant ones), but knowing that it helps Natasha feel less exposed has Bucky willing to share in a heartbeat. He knows what it’s like to feel vulnerable, and god, it _sucks_ . And the fact that she trusts him — and he’s never had _any_ doubt that she does — with her feelings without any hesitation makes his heart leap.

“Clint used to tell me I was a pessimist.”

Bucky snorts, pulling her body in closer to his, metal hand rubbing her back in slow circles. “Well, in a sense you are. I could leave the living room window open overnight, and you’d probably tell me that Alpine’ll walk out and get hit by a car or that he’ll never come back.”

“I would _not_ … ’Sides, all Alpine does is laze around. Liho’s more likely to, though.”

He smirks. “Alpine’s the cat version of you, then.” Natasha chuckles, kicking him lightly with the foot she managed to hook around his own leg, and his own laugh joins her. “But keep going.”

“About my pessimism?” Bucky smiles, then nods. “Hm… Well, when it comes to the stuff I really love — us, the family I found in the rest of the team, and so on — I just… I’ve always expected things to go bad before they get good. And even when they’re _already_ going good I still expect that.” Her face scrunches up a bit, almost as if saying it out loud made her realize how true it is. “With you and me, I _know_ They’re not coming for us anymore, but — ”

“It’s hard to shake old habits.” She nods. _He gets it._ After years of trysts in dark closets, stolen kisses in shadowy corners and expressing their love in dingy hotel rooms and too-cold or too-hot safehouses, having the freedom to do it shamelessly and publicly without the possibility of anyone separating them and taking those memories is overwhelming, too good to be true, so much so that there’re times when neither of them know what do with all… _that_.

“What’s more is that I’ve never been… _told_ about being like this,” she points her finger between the two of them, deliciously wrapped up in each other, “Being raised to — to see love as this weakness and then having that for you, _with_ you. It’s — ” It had her going crazy those first few months of them coming back together, torn between loving Bucky unconditionally and having that little voice in the back of her head either telling her _this is stupid, just walk away already_ or _let yourself have this, you both deserve to be happy_ , a constant war between her heart and mind, like a shoulder devil and angel bickering morning, noon, and freakin’ night.

But (for the most part,) they’ve stopped.

“It’s afflicting, yeah.” Anyone else would probably think he wasn’t into the conversation with the shorter answers he gives, and really, they’d be forgiven for it. Truth is, Bucky has _lots_ he wants to say — so many thoughts, so many feelings, all of them either too strong or too complicated or confusing for him to put them into lengthy sentences, so he usually settles on whatever easy and sensible notion comes to him first.

Natasha, au contraire, can get rather… talkative when it comes to things like this — pillow talk, that is. She, like him, has so much she wants to say, countless sentiments that she can’t help but try to put all of them into words. And sometimes they come out in bits and pieces that confuse even _her_ because she might speak before really thinking about it (hence the occasional abrupt stops or pauses or stuttering), but Bucky still understands. He always does. Just like she knows there’s a whole speech behind three or four words he gives, sometimes.

They’re two sides of the same complex, emotionally-overwhelmed coin. The perfect pair.

“Not to toot our own horn or anything,” he cracks a smile, “But I’d say we’re doin’ a damn good job at this whole thing.”

“Right? We go out on _surprise dates_ , for Christ’s sake.”

Bucky’s right arm slides down her flank and just above her knee, eventually coming back up to slip his hand under her nightdress, a comfortable and welcome weight on her hip. “And share food — ”

She frowns for a moment, a little smile tugging at her lips. “I’d say that was more of you stealing my fries, and me taking them back — ”

“Oh, oh so I’m a _thief_ now?”

“Yeah, food thief.”

“Dollface,” a light kiss to her lips, “The only thing I’ve managed to steal successfully is your heart.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


_“You said you didn’t want any before we ordered.” Did he really? Maybe he did. “I said, ‘James, are you_ sure _you don’t want any fries? ’Cause I’m not giving you any of mine.’ And you said ‘Yes, Tasha, I’m sure.’ Now I should have you get up and stand in line again for your own.”_

_Bucky points a wagging finger at her. “Y’know, Ma and Sarah always told me and my sisters and Stevie that sharin’ is carin’. And your impression of me is terrible — ”_

_She sniffs. “Notice how you didn’t say ‘me, my sisters and Stevie_ and Natasha _?” a click of her tongue, “Doesn’t apply to me.”_

 _“Oh, but it_ does _. I’m just passin’ on the message.” A fond roll of her eyes as she sips her drink has him smiling again, then, “She woulda loved you.” Bucky takes pleasure in the faint blush that appears on her already flushed skin, the smile that she tries to bite back at the fact that someone else would adore her. Innocent as a babe. “Could just hear her now. ‘Oh, hon, are you_ sure _you like him?”_

_“Mmm, and I’d say ‘Yes, ma’am. He’s all I want and more.’”_

_He lifts his burger up to take another bite. “Ah, she’ll have you drop the whole ‘ma’am’ thing, call her Winnie. Probably lecture me the whole time you’re there, tell me to make sure I was treatin’ you right.”_

_Natasha reaches her hand out to where his right hand rests, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You always do.” Those three words alone send a bolt of emotions straight to his chest, his heart fluttering with affection. She brushes her foot against his calf absentmindedly as curiosity overtakes her, asks, “If she asked you about me, what would you say?”_

_“Tell her ‘She keeps me on my toes, that’s for sure.’”_

_“I feel it’d be the other way around? After all, I_ am _the one who has to constantly strain to give you a kiss — ”_

_“That’s not my fault.”_

_“So you’re saying it’s mine?”_

_“Your body, your problem. I’ve seen_ twelve _-year-olds taller than you. And there’s something in your hair — ” He reaches forward to take the ‘something’ out, pulling two fries from her tray as he leans back. “Better.”_

_“You’re terrible.”_

* * *

“Sometimes I… I get — there’s so many things I wanna do and… I guess I get jealous of the couples that can do all that Normal Stuff without a second thought. Want it to come easy for me, give you all you deserve, but I — we’re still learning everyday, so I try not to let it bother me.” Natasha hums her assent, playing with a loc of his hair.

“There’s no rule saying we have to do the whole Flowers, Jewelry and Chocolates Thing. We can just be us, take things in stride — like we’ve _been_ doing. And _you_ are all I deserve and so much more.” She points a finger at him. “Don’t ever think otherwise.”

“Sap. Normal’s overrated anyways.”

“Not that there’s anything normal about two ex-assassins living in a Brooklyn apartment with two kittens that save the world every now and then and go on breakfast dates on Sundays,” — she lifts her hand in what would’ve been a shrug — “but, hey.”

“God, we’re the perfect material for a really bad TV show. And Alpine’s a _cat_.”

“Cat, kitten, same difference. And I’d outshine you, obviously.”

“That’s like… saying red and pink are the same colour.”

“No, red is _red_.”

“I like you in red.”

Natasha pauses for a beat. “S’that why you got the bikini in — ” she breaks off, chuckling softly.

“ _Duh_ . Christ, keep _up_ , Romanoff,” he says, lifting his hand up to rap lightly on her forehead, eliciting a giggle from her (yeah, Natasha Romanoff _giggles_ now), a sound that she still isn’t quite used to yet (she’ll get there, eventually), dropping her face into his shoulder while he smiles at the sound as it rings out, loud in their bedroom, her voice like a ray of sun, spoiling him with that familiar warmth in his heart. There was a time when she used to suppress her laughs, little chuckles and quiet sniggers, as if, if she’d let herself express her happiness, she’d be scolded for it. And over time, she’s relaxed, her bubbly laugh able to be heard all around the apartment, the compound, anywhere she happens to be, the best sound for miles and miles around. “Shoulda gotten it in green instead…”

“You _know_ I hate green.”

“Yeah, that’s why I shoulda gotten it.”

* * *

_“Stop it,” Natasha warns, but the smile that’s twitching at her face is nothing if not amused. “We’re in public.”_

_“We’re in public,” Bucky mocks, still ogling her from his spot in their beach towel. “I’m just helping you.”_

_She rolls her eyes. “This may surprise you, but I don’t need help to undress.” He smirks, his hands still playing with the hem of her cover-up as she kneels in front of him._

_“You’re not exactly stopping me.” Natasha opens her mouth for a comeback, but closes it again because he’s — he’s right. “Exactly.” She chuckles to herself as he lifts it up slowly, making a show out of it, teases at her stomach where he knows she’s extremely ticklish. The nerve of him. Once it’s fully off, he tosses it to the side, ignoring her small ‘hey’ of protest before she sits upon her haunches, his eyes drifting over the criss-cross design at the front of the top, over her soft, never-ending curves and muscles, porcelain skin and beauty marks he’s seen more times than he can count, a map he’s memorized over time._

* * *

“D’you ever wish you could show who you really are? Who’s behind the suit ’nd all that.”

“Yeah, every Monday.” Natasha throws him a look that says ‘ _really?_ ’ and he chuckles, bringing his hand back down to it’s previous spot on her hip. “Nah, I… I do. Sucks sometimes. But I mostly wish it for you.” She gives him a puzzled look.

“Why?”

“Hate when they say those things about you. You do so much for everyone, and… I wish they could see the girl who loves Frank Sinatra and Elvis Presley and dancing to Forties music in her pajamas with a cup of tea in her hand instead of the cold, heartless seductress who bites the heads off her marks.” Her face is tight with emotions, pretty eyes glinting with adoration as she shifts a little closer to press a kiss to his lips, warm and soft. Then, Bucky pauses, a shit-eating grin taking his features. “Wish they knew that… that you’re not the way you seem.” 

“Pfft, an Elvis reference? Really?” Natasha says, and can’t but laugh at how corny he is. Darling idiot. “You’re a gem, y’know that?”

“Oh, _stop_ ,” he grins, petting her hip lightly on ‘ _stop_ ’. “But on the flip side — ”

“Hmm?”

“I’m kinda glad they don’t. I get to — to know all these things, these little details that make you, you. And maybe that makes me a little possessive or selfish, but, quite frankly, I don’t care. You’re _mine_.”

“Oh _no_ ,” Natasha whines, twisting up and placing the back of her hand to her forehead. “Whatever have I done…”

“Nothing,” a kiss to her cheek, “Everything.”

“Which one is it?”

He thinks for a beat. “The fact that you can do absolutely nothing and still manage to make me feel like a nervous, inarticulate teenager _is_ everything,” he says gently, caressing her exposed hip. _Damn_ , Natasha thinks, she really loves him. She’s looking at him, into his steel blue eyes, as if he’s the best thing that’s happened to her. 

He _is_ the best thing that’s happened to her.

“Thinking if I should write that down somewhere…” Natasha grins. “Find it and read it when we fight.”

Bucky snorts. “Get it engraved or something. Or on a pillow.” Outside, a helicopter, probably for some news channel, passes in the distance, and the horn of what must be the ferry docking for the last time of the night sounds from afar. 

“A welcome mat.”

“Maybe a quote canvas.”

“A tattoo!”

“Just get it across your chest — ” he says in between laughs, Natasha in stitches in front of him. “ — in nice, bold _Commercial_ or _New York Times_ font.”

“Oh, the tabloids would eat that up in a heartbeat.”

“‘ _You Might’ve Just Noticed Black Widow’s New Tattoo..._ ’ Ah, man. Could see it now,” he says, pretending to look off in the distance. Natasha laughs.

* * *

_“S’that too cold?” Bucky asks, nodding to the air conditioning._

_“Mm, kinda.” He turns off the AC altogether, opting to roll down the windows instead and Natasha smiles gratefully. He knows how much she takes pleasure in car rides with the windows open — the breeze hitting her face and her hair fluttering all around, the content look she wears and the way she’d rock one of her feet back and forth atop the dash when she’s having a really good day… Yeah, he loves it all. “Thank you.”_

_“You’re welcome.” He mentally counts down from three, already knowing what Natasha’s first move of her six-step routine (a routine she doesn’t even notice she has) will be since entering the car._

_“Hopefully traffic’s not too bad…” She reaches up behind her for her seatbelt, pulling it across to secure herself in._ One _._

 _“Darlin’,” he says, checking all his mirrors as the car rumbles to life. “We live in New York. Traffic is always bad in one way or another.” She chuckles, reaching her left hand over to check if his seatbelt is locked in, too. It is._ Two.

 _“It’s still early. I’d say ‘maybe we’ll get lucky,’ but…” That same hand then moves to the armrest where she caresses along his forearm and finds his hand, laces their fingers together without second thought._ Three _. “This is_ us _we’re talking about.”_

_Bucky laughs, head thrown back against the headrest, his smile bright. “I love you.” Natasha squeezes his hand three times and gives him a smile, her quiet way of saying it back, lifting her leg up to rest it on the dash but drops it back when she can’t reach._

_She frowns, shifting the seat back up in her usual spot. “Tell Steve he better put my seat back in its original spot the next time he rides in this car.”_

_“Funny. He tells me the same thing about you and his car.” She shakes her head with a chuckle, finally getting her feet up and crossing them at the ankle._ Four _. “At this point, I don’t know why —”_

 _“’Cause… It’s comfy.” Her right hand comes across to turn on the radio, switching and switching until she finds a channel she likes._ Five _._

 _“Or you can just admit that you have a problem with sitting normally.” Finally, as Bucky pulls stars down the street to the main road, Natasha sits back, head resting comfortably against the headrest and her thumb caressing his hand subtly as she looks out the window._ Six _._

_+++_

_Natasha gasps a little, a small ‘ooh’ leaving her as she raises the volume, obviously pleased with the song that’s playing (like the two mini claps she did weren’t convincing enough)._

_“Don’t tell me you don’t know it…” She looks at him, exaggerated worry on her face when she sees his minor confusion._

_“What — is it, uh…” He taps his thumb against the rim of the steering wheel as he thinks. “Elvis, uh, Elvis —_ _Elvis Parsely!”_

 _“_ Pres _ely, honey. But yes.”_

_“Only heard of him ’cause of Sam — ”_

_Natasha huffs softly, slouching back against her seat and looking out the window dramatically. “Well thanks for letting me know that I've officially failed at your education on the years you missed.”_

_“You’re funny. You like him?”_

_“_ Love _him.”_

* * *

“I mean, I’ve always liked kids.”

“I didn’t.” Natasha deadpans. “Then I met Clint.” 

“I’m tellin’ him you said that,” Bucky says, laughing into her hair.

“Hm? I — _no_.” She snorts, her small, pale hand pressed up against his stomach. “I meant the Barton kids, idiot.”

“To be fair, Clint _is_ a kid.” Natasha chuckles, arching a little as his hand slides down to lay flat against her lower back, thumb drawing abstract circles along one of her back dimples.

“To be fair. But, no, I… I met them and Laura and — seeing Clint so happy in his _home_ with his _wife_ and Coop and little Lila…” Natasha trails off as she thinks about the night Clint first brought her to meet his family. She hadn’t known he had a wife, let alone _kids_ , at the time. Hell, she didn’t think he even had a house. Then she met them and experienced what it was like — _it_ being a happy family and having people that love you.

She’ll always remember how the kids had taken to her in a heartbeat, Lila basically claiming her as her own in no time. How Laura had been so patient and understanding with her and never _ever_ pushed, had this way of — of _knowing_ how she felt and thought despite her many façades. And it used to unsettle her at first; she hated feeling so vulnerable and unguarded. But years later, the fact that she doesn't have to say everything all the time has come to be more comforting than words can explain. (Especially when she herself can’t find the words to elucidate how she’s feeling or thinking. Laura’s always been good at that.) She remembers how Clint was so… himself around them. And it’s not like he wasn’t himself with her before, no. It’s just that being with his family turned on this switch in him, one that had him laughing and hugging and talking and _grinning_ like there was no tomorrow. To put it shortly, it made her feel —

“You wanted that.”

“I wouldn’t say want, not then. But, it made me wonder if _I_ could possibly have something like that, I guess.” She shrugs, biting at her lip for a moment. “Laura’d been so _nice_ to me. Thought she was faking.”

“What, did you expect her to welcome you with a gun to your head? Pat you down at the front door and interrogate you?” Bucky teases. Natasha looks at him blankly. “Oh, you can’t be serious — ”

“It’s not my fault!” she says, kicking him again as he shakes with stifled laughter.

“You’re right,” He presses a kiss to her head, talking into her hair, “It’s not. But still… A pat down?”

“I hate you,” she says, but the little smile she’s wearing says otherwise. “You’re great with kids, though.”

He hums. “Guess that’s what happens when you’ve taken care of three baby sisters.”

“Was startin’ to think Lila liked you better than me — ”

“Please. As if she could ever put anymore above _Aunty Nat_.”

Natasha laughs. “I remember the first time she cried when I was leaving. I’d spent the weekend there, I think, and had a little barbeque the last day I was there. Lila was about three? Maybe four. Anyway, I’m walking out the door, already said my goodbyes and gave and hugs and kisses and everything… and she just starts _bawling_ .” — Bucky laughs into her hair, shaking his head in amusement — “Like, honest to god tears streaming down her face, lip quivering, face all red… I couldn’t just _leave_ her — ”

“So the natural thing to do was — ”

“Was to stay another day, of course.”

“Of course.”

+++

+++

+++

It’s a quiet night. Warm August air blows through the windows, bringing in a scent that can only be described as Brooklyn. It’s minutes to eleven now, the waning moon positioned right outside their window, shining down at an angle that makes Natasha’s cream-coloured skin glow. She’s quite endearing like this, he thinks; all worn out and stumbling over her words, practically mumbling, vibrant, green eyes peeking behind half-lidded eyes.

He could stay here, exactly like this, with her, forever.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“You’re just… I love you, is all,” is his answer, simple and warmhearted, lifting one shoulder in a casual shrug because it’s something he’s so sure of, as if someone had asked _what colour is the sky?_ Loving her has always been easy. And maybe… maybe that’s the part that’s always scared him (and her) the most; how simple and easy everything comes for him when he’s with her rather than the actual _act_ of loving her; the way she’s managed to slip past his defenses so effortlessly, how she’s the centre of his universe, his reason for waking up everyday, the only person that can bring him up for a breath of air when he feels like he’s drowning in his own thoughts.

The list goes on.

It's fairly amusing how Natasha still manages to get butterflies in her stomach every time he says that. And it’s not as if he doesn’t tell or show her often — he showers her with love and affection ‘round the clock and she knows he means every last bit of it. It’s just that — that —

Well, she’s not sure _what_. Just that she knows she loves hearing it from him.

They’re so close, his ridiculous body heat radiating onto her, a pleasant contrast to the blasting air conditioner. She tilts her head up a little, bumping her nose against his, tender and sweet, for an Eskimo kiss that he returns just as happily. She’s easy like that. They both are. The fact that they don’t always have to _say_ things to express how they feel is a blessing; showing it has always been easier, anyway.

“Sap,” is her hushed reply as she rests her head back on his chest, soft, wavy hair tickling at his chin. He can hear the smile in her voice and already knows the three words behind that one. She falls asleep like that — leg tangled up in his own, a hand on his chest as she uses him as a pillow and her ear placed just above his left pec, and the steady beat she finds there is a lullaby she knows by heart.

Bucky follows not long after, a smile on his face.

**THE END**


End file.
